


All in a Day's Work

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Snark, i'm not really sure what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 16:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10339746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Mac is doing an autopsy for a case Phryne insists is murder.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olderbynow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olderbynow/gifts).



> It's Olderbynow's birthday - I made you a thing, and it's not even smutty. :D (Let me know if you need more smut...) I hope your day's been great, and full of cake and other wonderful things!

_“It’s murder, Mac. I’m certain of it.”_

Mac rolled her eyes, Phryne’s words echoing in her mind as she stood over the corpse on her operating table. Phryne was rarely wrong about such things; Mac had to admit, though, that it pinched a bit that her friend might think Mac wouldn’t do her full forensic duty by any body given into her care. But as Phryne rarely asked her for favors (scratch that, Phryne often asked her for favors, but always in a good cause), she was willing to at least pretend to spend more time than usual on this autopsy.

On preliminary examination, Mac could tell that the man had choked to death—the blue lips and broken blood vessels in the eyes and cheeks were a gruesome indication of asphyxiation caused by obstruction of the throat. The question was how he choked—accidentally, by taking a too-large bite of roast, or through some human intervention. 

A note in the corpse’s file said that the man had been at dinner, in the company of several others. Whoever the family was, they were well-connected; Mac had been told to move this autopsy through as fast as possible, to facilitate a swift cremation on religious grounds. That was just fine with Mac. If Phryne was right, a thorough autopsy report would be sufficient for prosecution.

Wishing (not for the first time) that she had the budget for an assistant so that she didn’t have to take her own notes, Mac had just begun the Y-cut that would open the chest cavity when the door to her morgue burst open.

“Just what is taking so long, MacMillan?”

Mac barely glanced up as she replied, her tone dry. “That’s _Doctor_ MacMillan to you, Dr. Johnson, and I am doing the job that I have been hired to do.” Her hand was steady as she continued her cut. 

“The cause of death is obvious, and I have this man’s family in my office demanding that we release the body,” Johnson blustered, ignoring Mac’s words. “I don’t know what you and that _woman_ friend of yours are playing at, but you need to finish this, and quickly.”

“While I appreciate your concern for the living, _sir_ ,” Mac said, biting off the honorific, “it seems to me that it’s important to check all of the orifices and organs in order to get a truly clear cause of death.” She was well aware the the only living being Donald Johnson was concerned with was himself—she certainly did not rate his attention, even if she was on his staff. If she had a different anatomical structure, he might have treated her with less disdain, but it wasn’t likely. And since she was happy with the fact that she was a female—a happiness that was shared by her lover, Leigh—she didn’t really give a damn whether he liked her or not.

“That level of detail is hardly necessary in this case,” Johnson said, his nose in the air. “Cause of death is clear.”

Mac paused, scalpel suspended, and looked up. “Is it? What do you see as cause of death, doctor?” It was certainly possible that he was right, and that she would find an obstruction in the dead man’s throat that would verify the theory, but it still paid to be thorough.

“The man choked, MacMillan. Look at his face,” Dr. Johnson’s tone was condescending, as if she was missing something obvious.

“Did he? On what?” Mac focused on the other doctor’s face, trying to keep her eyes wide and guileless. She hadn’t missed that he still hadn’t called her by her title.

“The family said they were at dinner, so I’d assume a piece of food.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It hardly matters.”

“‘It hardly matters’?” Mac allowed her expression to harden, and her voice turned acerbic. “I was under the impression that finding those details was our job, _Doctor_ Johnson, to determine the cause of death beyond doubt.” No wonder Johnson’s files were thin, if this was the way he approached his work. Lazy as well as stupid, apparently.

“Four people have given statements that the man choked in front of them at dinner,” Johnson said, his tone defensive. He propped his hands on his hips and looked down his nose at Mac; thankfully, she’d had enough experience dealing with other people’s disdain—her mother was a master of the form—that she was able to ward it off with merely a raised eyebrow.

“True, and when has a witness to a murder ever lied to obscure his or her involvement?” Mac’s sarcastic tone made the other doctor rear his head back in offense, his nostrils flaring. She continued, her voice hard. “I will do this autopsy thoroughly, as I do every autopsy I am asked to conduct. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d hate to get blood on your suit.” She waved a hand at Johnson’s pristine white shirt and pale gray suit—he had not bothered to put on a lab coat to protect his clothing—and bent her head to begin he Y-cut again.

“It’s ridiculous—” Johnson was sputtering now, his cheeks flushing. “A waste of time and department resources—”

Mac looked up again, her narrow-eyed stare cutting him off as efficiently as the scalpel in her hand cut through the skin of the deceased. “You never know what you might miss if you don’t open the abdomen or the skull.” Her raised eyebrow was a pointed reminder of the Murdoch Foyle case where this man had completely missed that the victims’ brains had been extracted. 

Johnson’s mouth shut with a snap, and he drew himself up, obviously furious. “I will await your report in my office, MacMillan. And I will inform the commissioner of your… your insubordination.”

“I will have the report delivered when it is finished,” she agreed, her tone mild again. “And be sure to tell Commissioner Rollins that I will have my own version of today’s events, which I will deliver to him personally just as soon as I have completed my work here.”

Mac’s smile as she turned back to her autopsy was satisfied. That had been fun, and she knew that Commissioner Rollins would hear her side of the story—the man had been very grateful to her when she’d helped his daughter through a recent health issue. 

She worked for another hour and a half, carefully going through her autopsy checklist. When she finished, she was no longer smiling. Phryne had been right. This man had not choked on a piece of food. He’d been poisoned, and likely at least one of the four people who’d been witness to his death was his poisoner. With a soft curse, she tidied up the body and set her tools aside, then washed her hands to call the police station.

“Hugh, it’s Mac,” she said, when Collins answered. “I need to talk to Jack. Is he in?”

“Of course, Dr. MacMillan—” Mac shook her head. Someday, Hugh would allow himself to call her by her nickname. “—I’ll get him for you.” 

Mac sighed and propped the phone between her ear and her shoulder, rummaging through her desk for three copies of the proper forms. Might as well create a version for Commissioner Rollins as she’d told Johnson she would. A moment later, Jack’s deep voice came on the line. 

“Mac, hello. What do you have for me?”

“I have a murder, Jack. Wendell Beechum, you remember? Cause of death is poison.” She began to write, copying the deceased’s information from the autopsy order that had come with him onto each form.

“Poison?” Jack asked, “What kind?” 

Mac heard Phryne’s voice in the background, “I knew it!”

“Judging by the burns in his gastrointestinal tract, the color of lividity, and the marked bitter almond smell, I’m going to go with cyanide,” Mac replied, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth at Phryne’s commentary. “There was nothing in his throat or stomach of a size that he could have choked on, so I’m thinking it was probably in his wine.”

“Waste of a good vintage, if you ask me,” Jack replied. “Thank you, Mac.”

“My pleasure. Don’t let Phryne gloat too much, will you? She’ll get a swelled head.” Mac’s grin grew as she said the words. Her friend had the farthest thing from a swelled head that she could imagine, which was remarkable given how good she was at every damn thing she tried.

Jack’s chuckle reverberated down the phone line. Really, the man did have a very attractive voice.

“I’ll do my best to keep her ego in check,” Jack said, and Mac could hear the faint, laughing “Jack!” from his companion.

“I’ll send along the full report once I have it.” She hung up, then coming to the “cause of death” line of her forms, Mac glanced up at the body, the insults to its skin neatly sewn up and a pristine white cloth laid over it from shoulders to toes. She shook her head at the fact that, once again, if Johnson had been the operating doctor, he’d have missed the evidence completely and let a murderer go free. 

“Everyone’s death deserves to be respected,” she murmured, going back to her forms.

An hour later, she was just putting the finishing touches on the letter she planned to include in the delivery to Commissioner Rollins, in rebuttal of what she was certain would be the complaints that Dr. Johnson would have taken to him immediately after leaving the morgue. As she carefully slid the letter and the copy of the death certificate into an envelope, the door swung open.

“Mac!”

Mac glanced up to see the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher sweep into the morgue, her white fur stole and trousers pristine.

“I should have guessed you’d turn up tonight,” Mac grumbled. “Like a bad penny.”

“Really, Mac, is that any way to talk to the woman who’s come to offer to take you out for a drink?” Phryne came closer, glancing at the cloth-covered corpse on the table as she passed it, and perched one hip on the corner of Mac’s desk.

“Have you?” Mac leaned back in her chair, folding her hands over her stomach. It had just gone eight, and she was realizing that she hadn’t yet eaten dinner. Too busy writing reports.

“Of course! I appreciate you doing this autopsy so quickly, it’s the least I can do.” Phryne’s voice was light, but Mac could tell that she was sincere. 

Mac studied her friend for a moment. It fascinated Mac just how serious Phryne was about her detective work. They’d been friends for more than twenty years, and in all that time, Mac had never seen Phryne so invested in one of her ventures. This business, begun so whimsically on Phryne’s return to Melbourne—good Lord, had it really been almost three years?—was now a part of who Phryne was.

“I was just doing my damned job, and you know it.” Mac narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Is the inspector busy on other business tonight?”

“What? Jack? No, when I left, he was finishing up the arrest paperwork—oh, it was Beechum’s nephew who poisoned his wine. He’s in debt up to his eyeballs and his uncle refused to bail him out. It was mostly for spite, it seems, though he also seemed to think he’d inherit.” Phryne shook her head. “At any rate, the case is closed, and I thought it’d be nice to spend the evening with you, that’s all.”

Mac’s mouth quirked up on one side in a smile, and she rose to her feet. Moving to the coat tree behind Phryne, she shrugged out of her lab coat and into her jacket, settling her fedora atop her red hair.

“I’ll need to phone home when we get to yours,” she said, “and I certainly hope that Mr. Butler can throw together some sandwiches, or the whiskey will go straight to my head.” 

“I am certain that Mr. B can be counted on to feed a hungry woman—two hungry women, actually! All I’ve had since lunch was a biscuit from Jack’s secret stash.” Phryne stood, pulling her fur close around herself. 

Grinning, Mac stepped up next to Phryne and thrust out an elbow. “Shall we?”

Phryne smirked as she slid her hand into the crook of Mac’s arm. “With pleasure, Dr. MacMillan. Hold onto your hat; I’m starved, and I’m driving.”

“Tell Leigh my last thoughts were of her,” Mac replied as they sauntered, arm in arm, out to Phryne’s motor car.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be sure to send flowers to your funeral.” Phryne laughed at Mac’s raised eyebrow. “Now get in.”

“It’s a good thing I love you, Phryne Fisher,” Mac said, settling herself into the car.

“And I’m so glad I have you to keep my head from swelling too much.” Phryne sent a grin at Mac as she started the car and pulled out onto the street in a surge of speed. 

Mac clapped a hand to her hat to hold it in place, and laughed all the way to Wardlow.


End file.
